


out on the main streets

by RedLipped



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-25
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-17 06:53:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4656879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedLipped/pseuds/RedLipped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old rival from Michael's past arrives in Los Santos, resulting in a mission, a high-speed chase across the city, and some unfortunate bullets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	out on the main streets

In a club located in the heart of downtown Los Santos, Gavin sips his drink with extreme caution. Loud music pulses against his eardrums to the beat of his ramming heart and pounding headache. He can feel his eyes rolling back into his head as someone smacks into him from behind. It's not the first time someone has hit him tonight and he anticipates that it probably won't be the last. While he typically enjoys the party scene on a casual Friday night, everything was overpoweringly loud and he was too stressed out to have a good time.

If he miscalculates any single action, he would be the one responsible for a failed mission. The weight feels heavy on his shoulders.

Gavin takes another sip, eyes scanning the crowd to hopefully find a familiar face. His persistent heart skips a beat as he finds the right person watching from across the room. He offers them a small, uncharacteristically nervous smile and inhales deeply, glancing down at his drink once again.

His earpiece crackles to life and a low voice startles him.

“You're looking good, Gav. You're doing great.”

He blushes, ducking out from beneath the club's overhead spotlights and into the darkness near the bar to hide his flushed face. Michael knows, though. Somehow, he always knows. A dark chuckle echoes within his ear and the earpiece falls silent once again.

Gavin accepts the praise without a response and straightens his back, leaving his drink on the bar behind him. He cranes his neck slightly, gazing through the crowd to find another face. While this one is unfamiliar to him, he has studied the photos of them carefully beforehand. If worse comes to worst, he also has a photo on his phone's camera roll as a back-up.

Fortunately he doesn't need to use it as he spots a person on the other side of the bar who perfectly matches the face captured in the images he has ingrained in his mind for weeks. He turns his head to the side, faking a cough to mumble into his microphone.

“Game on.”

He spares a glance toward Michael once again, relieved to see the boy's russet curls bounce as he nods in approval.

Pushing through the crowd of dancing bodies to stride to the other end of the bar feels like trying to swim upstream in a river. The air is thick, the smell is revolting, and his hand is now wet due to brushing too close to another guy's sweaty back. Despite the heat in the room, Gavin shivers.

Switching into his classic bait mode is as simple as hitting a button. Within seconds he goes from a nervous guy on a mission to a confident, suave foreigner who craves a taste of the wild Los Santos lifestyle.

Taking the empty seat next to his target, he brushes against them slightly. He catches the bartender's eye and orders another drink, folding his arms against the bar and arching his back. He casually glances around the room, tapping one foot against his chair to the incessant beat of the music.

Just as he had hoped, the man beside him speaks up.

“Hey, Accent. Where are you from?”

_Accent._ Gavin holds back a scoff and wears his classic cocky smirk.

“England.”

“Cool.” The man nods to himself. After a solid five seconds, he speaks again. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Gavin grins at him slyly. “You certainly don't beat around the bush. I like that.”

The man's eyes scan down his body painfully obviously. Gavin's tongue darts out and wets his lips slowly, watching as his target's lips part ever so slightly while watching the action. With a wave of confidence, Gavin cocks one eyebrow and tilts his head to the side.

“You seem interested,” he says, blunt as ever.

The man chuckles. “It's easy to admire a fine piece of art when I see one.”

Gavin clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I bet you say that to all the ladies.”

“Nah,” the man disagrees, “I'm not into chicks.”

Gavin nods, painting a thoughtful expression on his face. “I am. I mean, I'm really into anybody who looks attractive to me.”

The man bites his bottom lip between his teeth and grins. Gavin winks at him as his heart pounds in his chest. So far, this is going unbelievably smoothly. He tries to maintain the confidence that it will continue to go well.

The bartender brings Gavin his drink and the man beside him pipes up, telling him to put it on his tab and ordering another for himself. As the bartender walks away, Gavin turns in his seat and extends his open hand toward his target.

“By the way, I'm Gavin.”

“Jackson.”

They shake hands and Gavin internally marks this as the beginning of the end. Giving the man his real name as opposed to a fake one is a risk, but as long as this mission goes as planned, Jackson's new knowledge won't be a problem for very long.

“Pardon my directness,” Gavin says, “but you're very good looking, Jackson.”

It's not entirely a lie. With jet black hair and piercing blue eyes, Jackson is an intriguing person. Sculpted cheekbones form valleys in his cheeks whenever he smiles and his face is clean shaven, although Gavin can see a slight hint of a five-o'clock shadow beneath the lights above them. Physically, his body is equally nice. Wide muscles stretch out the man's shirt, pulling the fabric taut against his chest and arms. Gavin can just imagine what it must be like to be held in those strong arms and handled roughly by those large hands. Jackson is the textbook definition of a confident top.

Gavin pushes the thought aside, remembering the boy on the other side of the nightclub who is just waiting for him to move things along.

Jackson smirks, placing a hand on Gavin's thigh, fingertips stroking the sensitive skin beneath his jeans. “I could say the same about you.”

“Could you really?” Gavin blushes slightly, breaking his confident act with perfect, practised timing.

“You know what else I could do?” Jackson's voice drops low and Gavin suppresses a shiver.

Innocently, Gavin shakes his head, staring into the man's blue eyes with his own lust-blown pupils. Jackson raises an eyebrow and leans in closer, whispering into Gavin's ear.

Across the room, an increasingly angry Michael watches the pair with a glare sharp enough to kill a man. At least, he wishes it would.

“I didn't sign up for this, Geoff,” he growls into his hidden microphone.

A teasing laugh comes from his earpiece, causing him to cringe at the slight static.

“You signed up for it as soon as you said you wanted that guy killed, buddy,” Geoff retorts, smothering his lingering chuckles.

“Not _this_ , though. You can't even see what's happening. Gavin's literally throwing himself at him.”

“Need I remind you, Michael, that this is Gavin's assigned task. He's the bait for a reason, that reason being that he's exceptionally good at manipulation.”

The reminder from Geoff makes Michael exhale a heated sigh. Gavin's skills are always impressive when it comes to luring their targets. Something about his lilting accent and the soft swing of his hips draws people in, regardless of their gender or sexual preference. Fortunately in this situation, Michael already knows that Jackson is gay. Using Gavin to distract him was the first logical step in the plan.

To explain it simply, Jackson and Michael go _way_ back. Years ago when Michael was a struggling sixteen year old on the streets of his hometown in New Jersey, Jackson was a twenty-three year old man who took advantage of the younger boy. Michael's youth was used as a weapon and he was often thrown into dangerous gang situations with the promise that Jackson would pay him well in return. In the end, Michael wound up with a few broken ribs, countless black eyes, and narrowly avoiding a stabbing while Jackson laughed in his face and gypped him the money he deserved.

However, Michael got his payback years ago. He still remembers the rush of heat beneath his fingertips as he choked the air out of Jackson's then-boyfriend. Revenge fuelled him, leaving him numb from his head to his feet as he ducked into alleyways to hide from the police. It was only in the silence of the night at three o'clock in the morning that Michael understood the reality of what he did. A week later, he found himself on a long stretch, hitchhiking all the way from one side of the country to the other.

In Los Santos, he could reinvent himself. It was a rough start and it rarely got any easier, but help came in the form of the infamous Geoff Ramsey and Jack Pattillo. They had been watching Michael compete in the shady street business in which they were just beginning to make a name for themselves. They took him in and helped him start over from scratch.

Until now, no one from Michael's past had managed to find him. However, just a few days prior, one of the Fake AH Crew's most reliable contractors was cornered and drilled by Jackson, demanding to know more information about Michael Jones and his whereabouts. It was at that point that the crew began planning a way to take him out. A threat to Michael was ultimately a threat to all of them and they would hardly let a manipulative dick from the East Coast get in their way.

While it sounded like a great plan, putting it into action was a painful experience. Michael remains in his position across the room, hidden in the shadows enough to not be seen, but still close enough to watch as Jackson's hand snakes it's way between Gavin's thighs. His other hand rests on the back of Gavin's neck as he continues to whisper in the younger boy's ear.

Jackson was always good at talking. Michael wants to shut him up once and for all. Still, he restrains himself. He trusts Gavin and he is confident that Jackson won't make it out of this nightclub alive.

The loud bass pounds along with his beating heart.

Seated at the bar, Gavin feels very little guilt as Jackson describes in intense detail precisely how he wants to take Gavin, in which positions, doing which actions, and finally finishes talking with a confident promise that he would absolutely blow his mind. Gavin is a bit turned off by the man's overconfidence but the dirty talk is pleasing to his imaginative mind nonetheless.

Jackson's hand travels further between his legs until he presses his palm firmly against the growing erection in Gavin's jeans.

“How about we take this somewhere more private?”

Gavin moans quietly and nods. He is half acting and half genuinely interested as Jackson wraps his long fingers around his wrist and begins to drag him through the crowd. People bump up against both of them, moving their bodies wildly to the steady, deafening music. Jackson clears a path and hauls Gavin along behind him, shooting sharp looks at the other people who stare at the younger boy hungrily as they pass.

Just as Gavin begins to grow slightly light-headed in the ocean of people, he spots Michael on the outside of the crowd, following in their general direction but still not getting too close. Michael's stare is intense as he maintains focus, concentrated on Gavin as he treads in the middle of the rowdy crowd. The knowledge that he's being watched sparks something inside of him. With a lust-addled brain, he follows Jackson blindly until they break through the other side of the crowd, just before the entrance to a tight hallway that leads to the bathrooms.

Still being lead by Jackson's tight grip on his wrist, Gavin continues to walk past both bathroom doors until he's stopped abruptly in the middle of the empty hallway. His head spins as a result of both the alcohol in his bloodstream and the rough treatment from the larger man as Jackson slams his back against the wall. He gasps quietly before Jackson mashes their lips together, slotting his thigh between Gavin's legs and grinding against him.

Jackson grips one side of his face with a strong hand while the other snakes it's way down the back of Gavin's jeans, fingertips digging hard enough to press bruises into the rounded flesh of his ass. Their lips part, allowing them both to take a deep breath. Jackson bows his head down and presses harsh kisses down Gavin's neck. Too breathless to speak, Gavin settles for moaning his approval into the man's ear. With a rapid movement, Jackson thrusts roughly against Gavin, the friction between their crotches causing them to both gasp sharply. Drowning in bliss, Gavin lets his head fall back and hit the wall behind him. Jackson attacks his neck again, sucking sections of his collarbone with enough force to leave marks.

A flash of movement catches Gavin's eye down the hall. He glances in the direction of the action with a heavy, lidded gaze. As he expected, Michael peeks around the corner, watching the pair with fire dancing behind his eyes.

Gavin reaches up and wraps both of his arms around Jackson's neck, pulling him in closer. With a gentle flick of his fingers, he gives Michael the hand signal they had previously agreed on. Unfortunately this will cut the ongoing pleasurable interaction short, but Gavin is also a decent boyfriend with a moderate conscience. While he loves to make Michael jealous, the boy has already been through enough for one evening. Given the history between him and Jackson, Gavin was beginning to feel a bit guilty for enjoying himself.

Michael bows his head, hiding his face from view in the dim hallway lighting. Quietly and carefully, he creeps closer to the pair that is still thrusting and grinding together like animals in heat. He pulls a small syringe from his leather jacket pocket, pleased as the clear liquid inside shimmers in the low light.

Jackson is completely oblivious to the weapon that's raised behind him as Gavin begins to giggle in his rough grasp. Before he can begin to question Gavin's laughter, Michael jabs the syringe into his neck and injects the fluid into his bloodstream.

As planned, Jackson collapses almost instantly, his consciousness fading fast as his body hits the floor at their feet with a solid _thud_.

Gavin grins and opens his mouth to speak something in the form of a congratulations but his actions are cut short when Michael steps over the body below them and pins Gavin against the wall. He presses their lips together, grasping at Gavin's shirt to pull him as close as physically possible while still forcing his weight against him to keep him pinned. Gavin moans into Michael's mouth, pleased over the familiar roughness Michael always provides when he's angry or, more importantly, jealous.

They rut together in silence for a few moments before Michael pulls away suddenly, licking his lips at the view of Gavin's absolutely wrecked face. The boy's hair is even wilder than usual, sticking up in all directions and laced with beads of sweat. His pupils are dilated and blown wide as he chews softly on his bottom lip. The overall red flush that paints from his face all the way down his neck is an indication of how heated his skin is, and it takes every ounce of Michael's strength to not tear his clothes off right then and there in the middle of a public building.

Clearing his brain with a deep breath, Michael kneels down to get closer to the crumpled body on the floor. Pressing two fingers to Jackson's neck and waiting with bated breath, he closes his eyes. After seconds pass with no pulse beneath his fingers, he exhales slowly and stands, staring down at the dead body with a scowl.

“So you liked that, huh?” he asks.

“Me?”

“ _No_ , the dead guy. Yes, you, you moron.”

Gavin shrugs, unaffected by the common insult. “It was going well until you killed him.”

Michael shoots him an incredulous look. “That was the plan! What _wasn't_ in the plan was you fucking falling in love with him!”

At that, Gavin cracks. He begins to laugh, quiet and airy at first until it grows into his typical squeaky chuckle.

“What?” Michael barks, staring at Gavin with utter rage etched into his features.

“You think I could fall in love with _him_ ,” Gavin wheezes, pausing to catch his breath, “when I'm already in love with _you_!”

The air rushes out of Michael's lungs in a huff. As always, Gavin is an enigma. He leans forward to wrap his arms around the boy's thinner torso, pulling him in for a tight embrace. Despite how frustrating Gavin can be, he also has the ability to soothe Michael's rage with just the right words or actions. Hearing his laughter, bright and cheerful in such a dark place, brings Michael back to calmness once again. The inches between their lips slowly begin to decrease as they each come closer, content with meeting in the middle, when a bright light shines on both of them from down the hallway.

“Hey!” a voice yells.

“Did you fucking kill him?!” another shouts.

Michael clutches onto Gavin's arm and they both turn away from the light, running in the opposite direction down the hallway.

“Where do we go?!” Gavin panics.

“The back door, over here!”

Michael dashes ahead, gripping the doorknob on the closest door he sees. He pulls it open and feels a flush of relief as the cool night air greets his skin, soothing after being trapped in the heat indoors for so long. His relief doesn't last long as Gavin pushes against his back, forcing him out the door and onto the sidewalk. The younger boy comes flying out after him and latches onto his hand, breaking into a run and pulling Michael down the street.

“Where did you park the getaway bike?” Michael asks, his voice high pitched from being under pressure.

“It's in the next alleyway. Hurry!”

They dash down the sidewalk until Gavin tugs Michael's hand in another direction, ducking both of them inside an alley where his motorcycle is ready and waiting. Gavin climbs on, revving the engine and waiting to feel the familiar heat of Michael's body pressed against his back so they can escape. Instead, he senses Michael's hesitation.

“We don’t have time, Michael!”

Michael pushes his hands off of the bike momentarily. “Just-- Let me try something.”

He swings one leg over the bike, similar to mounting a horse. He situates himself until he's straddling Gavin with both legs wrapped around his waist. Their chests are pressed together so tightly that they can both feel the echo of the other's heartbeat as it rams through their rib cages. Michael ducks his head down to growl sharply in Gavin’s ear.

“Go.”

Gavin doesn't have time to respond when they hear the unmistakable shouting get louder. He applies the throttle and peels out of the alleyway, leaving a trail of dust behind them.

“Just don't block my view!” Gavin yells over the sound of the engine.

Streetlights whiz by as they pick up speed on the main road. In the heart of downtown Los Santos at night, the streets are bustling with other vehicles. Michael clings on tightly as Gavin weaves between cars with practised ease, dodging in and out of alleyways to avoid traffic lights.

The pair's momentary peace is cut short as Michael spots headlights approaching in the distance. They're moving too fast to be average civilians and it doesn't take him very long to recognize that they're being followed.

“Gav, they're on us!” he shouts. Gavin takes a quick glance over his shoulder and nods once in response. With his expression twisted into something Michael can only label as intense, he revs the engine and begins to speed up.

Naturally, the men following them seem to do the same.

Michael clutches onto the back of Gavin's neck with one hand, reaching into his jacket to pull out his semi-automatic pistol. He clenches the muscles in his thighs, wrapping himself around Gavin's hips even tighter. With a steadying inhale, he fires behind them at one of the motorcycles.

Whether it's luck or just a good shot, Michael isn't sure, but he breaks into a sinister grin as the bullet pierces the front tire of the closest pursuer. The man loses control of his motorcycle and veers to the left, accidentally cutting off his own crew member. The two of them collide and they fly off of their bikes, landing in a heap on the sidewalk.

Michael lets out an audible “Woohoo!” at the sight of the crash and feels the vibrations of Gavin's chest against his own as his boyfriend begins to laugh. Michael joins him and cackles, leaning in to press a kiss on his right ear.

He jerks away as Gavin takes a sharp turn, ducking into another alleyway to avoid a build-up in the late night traffic. When they break through on the other side, illuminated by the streetlights once more, they're heading straight toward a synchronized group of roughly ten bikers.

“Fuck!” Gavin curses, angling the motorcycle to the left and doing a sharp U-turn in the middle of the street. Behind them, the pursuers speed up.

Gavin's turn slowed the pair down significantly. Michael is close enough to a handful of the crew members to be able to see their angry faces under the lights above. His mind races as he tries to fathom what Jackson had been planning by forming a big crew like this. Suppressing a shiver, he thinks back to the image of the man's crumpled body in a heap on the floor. If the men chasing them are any indication, clearly they had stopped Jackson and his developing plans just in time.

Michael takes aim with his pistol once more and fires five shots at a few different pursuers in rapid succession. Three shots hit and he watches as the affected men fall off their bikes, landing on the hard pavement. Their crew members pass their limp bodies without so much as a glance.

He doesn't feel compelled to cheer this time. Instead, he focuses on aiming toward another cluster of bikers. He pulls the trigger once. A hit. Once more and another hit. On his third shot, a searing pain strikes his upper arm and he cries out into the night. His hand goes entirely weak and he loses his grip, his gun clattering to the pavement below them. Pitifully, Michael watches as it disappears in the distance.

His head spins as the right side of his upper body, centering from his bicep, burns with excruciating pain. Faintly, he can hear Gavin screaming at him over the engine.

“Michael! Michael, are you hit?”

Weakly, he settles on groaning in response. He tucks his injured arm in between Gavin's chest and his own, trying to hold it steady. As they pass under the next streetlight, the unmistakable shine of red blood glints in his eye. He huffs a breath.

He ducks down, tucking his sweaty forehead in the small spot where Gavin's shoulder meets his neck. His face contorts into one of discomfort and agony as all he can do is feel the pain of the bullet wound.

Gavin winces in sympathy for the boy wrapped around him and serpentines in a zig-zag pattern, narrowly avoiding the oncoming shower of bullets from the pursuers behind them. With Michael already hit, the last thing they need is for Gavin to go down.

His eyes dart along the street, gathering his surroundings. In this business, they all know the layout of these busy roads like the back of their hands. They dream about them at night and plot them out on heist maps in the day. He recalls a series of alleys and underground garages in the area and at the very last second, he accelerates and turns sharply into a thin alleyway on the left.

That alley leads into a wider one until it ultimately splits off into three directions. Again, Gavin dodges into the left one. He traces the pattern out in his mind, taking quick turns wherever necessary until he breaks out onto another main road. He darts in between cars before bursting into another alleyway on the right.

He slows to a stop, desperately angling the bike to hide behind a large dumpster, and cuts the engine. Waiting with baited breath, he pauses to listen to the sound of motorcycles in the distance. They grow closer and louder. He wraps one hand around Michael's back, pulling his boyfriend tighter against his chest. Michael moans in pain as his bloody arm is jostled in the movement.

Gavin nervously sucks his lower lip between his teeth, nibbling on the skin. The motorcycles get louder and louder until they reach their peak, speeding down the main street in front of the alley. Waiting in painful silence, Gavin counts as all of the bikers pass the alleyway. Even after they've gone in the other direction, he still waits quietly to listen as the engines all fade into the distance.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, he leans back to assess the boy clinging to him like a monkey. Michael's eyes are shut tight and he heaves a breath every couple of seconds. Despite the darkness of the alleyway, Gavin can see the dark red stain of blood seeping through his boyfriend's jacket.

“Stay with me, Michael,” he says quietly, “I'm gonna get you home.”

Michael nods weakly in response, tucking his head against Gavin's neck once more. Gavin turns slowly in the narrow alley and starts the engine again, beginning to drive home at a much slower speed. He avoids main streets as much as possible, terrified of being spotted and chased again. After a few nerve-wracking minutes, he fortunately enters a more secluded area further north in Los Santos and passes the expensive, gated properties in a blur. The familiarity of the back roads send a feeling of calmness through his mind.

He's endlessly grateful, in that moment, to see the roof of their safehouse over the hills.

The next few minutes pass in a flash.

Gavin pulls up to the house to be greeted by an angry Geoff and the concerned faces of Jack, Ryan, and Ray. Geoff had already been informed through another contact of the crew's that the pair had been involved in a high-speed chase around town. His voice cracks at a tense, higher pitch as he chews them both out for turning off their mics and earpieces in the middle of a mission. Gavin insists that the target has been taken out and the conversation is abruptly cut off by Jack, who places his hand on Michael's shoulder.

“Now isn't the time, Geoff,” he mumbles, already beginning to observe the bullet wound.

“Well fuck me for being worried!”

Michael speaks up, croaking, “you have a weird way of showing it.”

At that, Geoff deflates. “I'm sorry, buddy. Come on, let's get you inside.”

Working as a team, they pry Michael's legs from around Gavin's waist and ease him off of the bike. Carefully avoiding any contact with his arm, Jack leads him inside the safehouse and into a soft chair in the living room. He disappears for what feels like two seconds, returning with a first-aid kit the size of a toolbox. As always, Jack sets to work on fixing up the injury.

The removal of the bullet is the hardest part. While Michael sweats and groans in the living room under Jack's cautious hands, Gavin has to remove himself from the room. He blames it on the smell of blood making him gag, but he is painfully transparent and everyone in the room knows the difference. Geoff joins him in the kitchen and distracts Gavin with their regular debriefing procedure.

Gavin informs him of the events inside of the club, then about taking Jackson down, and then about being chased by his crew. Geoff seems puzzled about how the man had built up a violent and experienced group so fast. As he voices his confusion and begins to ponder a few things out loud, Gavin doesn't even hear his words. Instead, he's listening to Michael's pained panting in the next room and the hushed murmur of conversation between Ryan and Ray. Geoff picks up on his disinterest relatively quickly, cutting off his own sentence in the middle of a train of thought.

“He'll be okay, kid. He always is.” He pats Gavin solidly on the back for good measure.

Gavin nods softly, biting his bottom lip. The silence between them is soon interrupted by Ryan, strolling into the kitchen to most likely grab a Diet Coke.

“The bloody part is all over,” he says calmly, trying to hold back a smirk.

Gavin sighs and exits the kitchen, leaving the two to discuss possible theories regarding Jackson's foiled plans. In the living room, he is greeted by a smiling Jack and a sleepy Michael.

“The bullet is out and he's all patched up!” Jack holds up a small rounded item in his hand, about the size of a marble. Gavin suppresses a gag and Jack knowingly laughs.

“Everything's okay, then?” he asks.

“Yep,” Jack nods, “I just gave him some painkillers so he'll probably be tired for a while. He will feel better on his own in a few days, but for the meantime, don't punch him in the arm or anything, accident or otherwise.”

Gavin doesn't give a response. Instead, he plops down in the chair beside Michael's.

“I'm okay, boi,” his boyfriend mumbles sleepily.

“Of course you are, boi,” Gavin replies. Echoing Geoff's words, he whispers, “you always are.”

  


It's no coincidence that the following morning, the local Los Santos news channel runs a report on the arrest of several bikers who were involved in a high-speed chase downtown. When Gavin wakes up, uncomfortable after falling asleep upright in the chair beside Michael, he just barely catches Geoff hanging up a phone call. Silently, his boss turns to face the television, watching the news report on a low volume.

When the news headline finally registers in Gavin's sleep-addled brain, he stares up at Geoff in disbelief. The female news anchor describes the evidence found at an apartment downtown of the gang's plans to eliminate another rival crew. She ends the story by stating that the intended victims of the attack are unknown.

Geoff ignores Gavin's shocked expression and turns away, unable to hide the twitch of his moustache as he begins to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [Undercover Martyn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAJNm0ApPjk) by Two Door Cinema Club
> 
> feel free to hit me up on [tumblr!](http://jacktapillo.tumblr.com/)


End file.
